


That Which Grows in the Dirt

by cottontailcake (RabbitPie)



Category: Undertale
Genre: Familial Abuse, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, I dunno how to rate stuff, Other, Sans has had a real bad time but things seem to be looking up now, Torture, Whump, do not come here expecting plot just feels, h/c, i guess?, the sans/papyrus is rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitPie/pseuds/cottontailcake
Summary: Sans' body is safe now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda ouch, also the first H/C thing I've tried to write of this type.
> 
> Hopefully one day I'll get to the point where I'm willing to look at my stories long enough to edit them... but it is not this day! (sorry for the gratuitous typos.)

Sans wakes up to the smell of spaghetti and he knows that he isn’t awake. He stares at the ceiling, and runs a hand through his chest – it ripples through the invisible ectoflesh like a fish through water. His body is whole. Undamaged.

He’s fine.

_He will be fine until the waking world swallows him._

So he relaxes, and lets the memory carry him downstairs and into the kitchen where Papyrus is humming,  the back of the superhero costume they’d made together facing him. The smoking stovetop smells like nostalgia  instead of fear  and Sans slumps into a chair, admiring the  sight .

He should wake up before it’s too late, but he--

He misses this,  and so he’ll let himself indulge in the feeling of familial love, because his dream is telling him the spaghetti smells like  his  hopeless indulgence of his brother,  and the pan is something for cooking, and it’s been so long since the world has looked and smelt like this.

Papyrus screetches in pain and jumps back, waving his hand furiously. He  pulls the glove off. Around the palm of his hand near the wrist, the ectoflesh is turning visible as it burns. It solidifies into Papyrus’ natural orange far too quick for a presumably minor injury, and Sans surges forward far too late. 

Sans’ hands don’t glow green. As he reaches out to cradle his brothers hands he tries to pulse healing magic through his body, but nothing happens.  His useless body doesn’t respond.

_WHY?_ His voice screams in his head as the familiar sensation of failure wells up in this throat.

His brother chuckles, and his hands turn in Sans’ until they have him trapped in boney manacles. “I’m your self-hate, idiot. I’m everything you hate about yourself. I’m your every failure. I’m your  _brother_ .”

Sans can’t even pull backwards, he’s frozen as Papyrus reaches for the pan  and lifts up Sans’ shirt, revealling nothing but clear bone. Sans struggles and falls to the ground. It works for a moment and Papyrus is left holding his empty shirt, but then he is hauled up by the shoulders and there are bone attacks pinning through his ribs and sticking him next to the oven.

He can feel the heat rise from the element. He’s begun to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Papyrus asks, and grabs a metal skewer. He places it against the element on its side until it glows red.

_For not being our father. For not raising you better. For not keeping you safe from that stupid flower. For not stopping the resets._

“I’m sorry I’m a piece of shit.”

Apologies get him nowhere. Papyrus plunges the skewer into his belly. An orange glow of arousal lights up his little brother’s pelvis as he slowly moves the skewer in a circle. The room sticks of burning magic and Sans can’t think past the pain.

He’s screaming, though. And he’s not out of it enough to avoid noticing the way Papyrus pulls his shorts down and feeds his dick into the tough, corporeal cylinder of ectoflesh he’s burnt into Sans’ stomach, or the--

– bucket of water he dumped on his head.

Sans gulped, and stared at the ceiling. There’s no smell of spaghetti and pain. Red is sitting on the other side of the couch with another ice bucket. Papyrus is nowhere to be found.

“Well good morning to you, Princess,” Red says sharply, and shakes the bucket. Water sloshes out the side and soaks Sans’ shorts. “Sleep well?”

Sans can’t help but flinch. “W-wouldn’t quite say that,” he answers. For a moment, the relief is so potent that he thinks it was all a dream, and he goes to rub his stomach in relief. Instead of the smooth, permeable feeling of his stomach, his hand slaps against columns of scar tissue.

“Hey, hey!” Red objects, reaching for him. His hands grow green, and Sans gets the feeling that somehow, somehow it isn’t going to be soothing his world will fall apart of those hands touch him and he can’t loose this too.

Sans flinches away. Thankfully, Red stops. He licks his sharp bottom teeth.

“Help me sit up?” Sans asks, and Red moves forward to help him, this time without glowing hands.

“You’re gonna have to let us help you sometime, squirt,” Red mutters as he eases Sans into a sitting position. Sans body goes through a whole range of motion that includes magic systems broken by the burnt flesh.

Sans breathes out a harsh breath. “Alright. This one.”

He points to his currently-blind left eye, where puckered, thickened ectoflesh has replaced his eyelight. Red breathes out slowly and raises his fingers to the eye socket, gently touching the ruined flesh and sending soothing magic through it.

“N-No, manifest a bone,” Sans protests. “A thin one. You need to… to release the...”

He can feel the disgusting sensation of foreign material there, blocking his magic, stopping him from able to move under his own power.

Red nods, and presses a needle of bone into Sans’ eyesocket. It pushes into a scab deep in the eyesocket, and thick, congealed orange magic  oozes forth. Sans clutches at Red’s arm, and  Red stills.

“This is real, ain’t it? I’m not nice enough to myself to dream this up...”

“Yeah. You’re with us now.”

Red squeezes his hands and lets go.  There is no pain from the touch. There is no healing, only to make him strong enough to endure more hurt.  Red just reaches for the tissue box and begins to remove the horror from Sans’ eye.


	2. Boundary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I have a bit more to explore in this world.  
> I asked SesuRescue which prompt I should use for the next part of this tale, and they chose "Boundary".  
> A prequel of sorts to the last chapter.  
> This is significantly longer than I intended it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I've used a part of my own lab headcanon here. It's not one I've seen anywhere else, so be prepared to interpret an idea that's probably new to you!

There was a strangled, desperate grunt from behind the armchair as it wavered in the doorway, thunked against the jamb, and threatened to fall out of Red’s grip and crash down the stairs. Sans leapt from his desk and shot up the steps, steadying it with all his strength.

Red sighed with relief. Together, they got the armchair down the stairs and onto the floor. Red fell over one arm and rolled over onto the cushion and into a ball. Sans’ questions were cut short by the sight green bruise that covered the side of Red’s head. He looked exhausted.

Sans brought him a coffee.

“You are the most fantastic monster in the multiverse,” Red muttered, and cupped it to his chest, burrowing himself into his coat and looking like he wasn’t going to move anywhere for a very long time.

“… can I get a pillow?”

Sans got him a pillow from his room and stole a clean blanket off Papyrus’ newly-made bed. Red laughed as he wrapped himself in it.

“You sure he’s not gonna kill you for this?” Red asked, rubbing the clean cloth against his cheeks.

Sans shrugged. “It’s not like he’s gonna find out, I’ll blame the annoying dog.”

“Yeah,” Red sighed, and leaned back into the couch.

“It’s nice, you know, getting a break from all that,” he waved towards the door, indicating his own world. “It’s so good to get away.”

“Your bro causing you trouble?”

Red shook his head.

“No! No, Bo-uh-Edge is… fine. Too soft if anything. Someone threw a rock through my window last night and I just can’t… well. He’s gone nuts and I can’t. I’m gonna sleep here tonight.”

He looked up to the single window of the basement. It was hidden by a tattered curtain that Red had fished out of his dump when the sight of the void had become too much for the both of them.

“Heh, alright,” Sans answered. “Well, I want a proper bed to sleep in, so I’m gonna go home. You could join me.”

Red looked up in surprise, then down, and shook his head. “Nah, it might not even work.”

“Won’t know till we try.”

Red gave him a look that said “I can pretend it’ll work until you try to carry me bridal-style over the threshold of your universe and we both get splattered over the void.”

“Look at it this way, that coffee came from my world. It doesn’t vanish from your gut when you go back to yours.”

“Cut it out, Princess.”

Sans raised an eyebrow. One of them was standing around in nothing but a singlet, dirty shorts and a pair of socks. The other was bundled up in several layers of clothing and blanket, had a second hot drink – this time hot chocolate – in his lap and was leaning against a borrowed pillow. That second monster wasn’t Sans.

Red glowered.

“Shoo.”

Sans laughed, and wandered up the stairs. There was only the single door into the lab – and what universe it was connected to seemed to be dependant on who went threw it. Sans hesitated.

“Hey Red? Stay safe?”

“You alright?”

Sans felt suddenly choked up. His hand gripped tight around the handle as a whole lot truths he’d been avoiding began to speak up in his mind. He’d known that Red would refuse to visit his world – perhaps that was the only reason he’d asked.

Or maybe… he just didn’t want to return alone.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, and stepped through the doorway.

“Oi, Prince--” Red’s voice was cut off as Sans left.

\--

“Hey Bro.”

“Where were you?” Papyrus turned around, a cross expression on his face.

"In the lab.”

"I checked the lab.”

"Yeah I know, but I was there, I swear it. I told you, I can go in there and--"

"You get to some fantasy land with your other self and I'm not allowed in," Papyrus answered with a pout.

"Yeah, sorry Pap," Sans said. "I just... I'll find a way to fix it, promise."

"You'd better--"

"I promise!"

Sans was surprised my his own volume. He closed his mouth and licked his lips. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

Papyrus’ expression was cold. "Your promises used to mean something."

He took out his phone.

“No please,” Sans whined.

Papyrus sent off a message.

“Bro, please...”

Papyrus’ phone bleeped as he received confirmation.

“Here’s a promise you can try to keep,” Papyrus sneered. “ _Stay still_.”

Papyrus searched through his body, searching for the magic that let him enter the lab. His fingers bit into Sans’ spine and with a soulshattering sensation of pain, Sans felt himself turn to dust--

Papyrus’ phone bleeped as he received confirmation.

Sans wasn’t going to stay still. He backed away before Papyrus could reach for him and fled. He tried to shortcut, but his scarred magic wouldn’t respond quickly. He reached Grillby’s and banged against the door. The patrons looked up in shock--

Papyrus’ phone bleeped as he received confirmation.

Papyrus’ fist, bright with fire magic, lit up his back and burned away his ability to control his pelvis.  Sans closed his eyes. He wanted to call Red. He wanted to get back to the lab. He pretended that Red could just walk through the door of the lab and save him.

No more pain came.

Sans opened his eyes.

Papyrus smiled, and picked Sans up. He sat on the couch and cradled Sans’ body against his. His hand, cool this time and faintly soothing, touched the burn he’d made.

“I think we’ll keep you like this. At least for a while.”

“No please give me back my legs, please.”

“Hrm, you gonna use those hands to spread up those useless legs of yours?”

Sans reached for his left femur, and Papyrus laughed. “I didn’t mean it. No, Sans, if you really want your legs back, you’ll give me everything.”

Sans shuddered. He’d given everything to his brother in a hundred timelines that no longer existed. He’d given his life, over and over again.

“I haven’t got… I haven’t got anything else to _give_.”

He sobbed. The image of Papyrus as a child bloomed in his mind. So cute, and small, and innocent. His first day of school. His excited babble as he told Sans about his first friend. Papyrus took him  out into the cold, and the chill of Snowdin could not compare to the chill that gripped Sans’ soul as Papyrus pushed him against the door to the lab.

"No, no, I can’t--" Sans squirmed.

"Yes you can.”

He dropped Sans in the snow.

"I'll leave you here, unable to move, unable to do anything until you change your mind," Papyrus threatened. He moved his hand up through Sans' belly, through the columns of burned flesh, and rested it in the hollow of the his left shoulder.

"I would hate to burn this... it would be inconvenient if you couldn't hold your own legs up."

"Pap," Sans coughed, terror holding him rigid. His arms were the only things he could move reliably now. He couldn't let Papyrus take them away.

“You have until I cum to make your decision.”

He pulled the key to the lab from Sans’ pocket and held it, heating it with magic until it glowed. He lowered it towards Sans’ left eye as he thrust his hand into Sans’ mouth, holding his tongue to stop his scream and keep his head still as he burned a sheath of scar tissue into his skull.

Papyrus had ruined the parts of his magic that could shortcut, and his hand held his head still, Sans’ mouth speared on his free hand as he thrust. Sans held his hand against the door to the lab.

And… he gave up.

Not on life, but on his brother.

Papyrus’ shuddering finally stilled, and he withdrew, panting. He gazed at Sans’ face in wonder, and reached up to touch the magic where it leaked from Sans’ eyesocket.

“Aww wow Papyrus, I think you finally broke him!”

Papyrus flinched, he let go of Sans’ face for a moment, and a moment was all it took.

Sans slammed his hand against the door, and it passed through, into the real lab. As soon as his fingers touched the top step, he pulled himself down the stairs. His body shuddered and bumped all the way down until he collapsed in a heap at the bottom.

He was safe.

The world was silent.

The light of the Snowdin day could not touch the lab.

Sans rested his hand against his forehead. He gazed at the shape of the armchair where Red still dozed and began to cry.

The tears washed Papyrus’ cum from his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The other prompts are Flowey, Red, Sans, Edge, Papyrus, Love, Respect, Medicine and Penetration. If you'd like me to do any of those next time, or want to suggest another noun, let me know in the comments. I like working with direction.)


	3. A Picture of Sans' Injuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a picture.

Sorry guys, no chapter here! Just a picture of the injuries Sans gained last chapter I drew this evening.

The tumblr post also contains the following worldbuilding notes:

  * Sans' natural magic colour is cyan.
  * All monsters bruise green, the colour of healing.



[tumblr link!](https://cottontailcake.tumblr.com/post/160045211729/a-drawing-of-sans-injuries-in-that-which-grows-in)


	4. Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter about Red and kinda about Edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: BRITISH/AUS/NZ VOCAB OF THE DAY: lounge = living room
> 
> I thiiink this chapter's theme was inspired by some-bad-bones, on tumblr. It was a little while ago.
> 
> I'll be trying to finish Kustard Heat Fic now.
> 
> edit: Sorry for the confusion guys! I've added some little headings that will hopefully help the reading of this chapter.

As Sans and Papyrus:

The day was a warm one in Central, and Papyrus was playing with the other kids. They weren't very accepting of his brash loudness, or his unwillingness to hurt the others. He was a strong kid, but his lack of desire to prove it caused problems.

He came home in tears. He’d come home in tears. Day after day.

So one day Sans held a strip of leather out to his brother asked him to collar him. Papyrus’ fingers fluttered hesitantly over the strip.

"Do you... are you sure?" he asked. "I... I can't… ask..."

Sans shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Just, I dunno, I'll trail behind you and that way I can keep an eye on you."

Papyrus squinted. "This is all just an excuse to keep an eye on me.”

Sans smirked. "You got it, Pap. Or should I say...” he dipped his head and raised a brow, “...'Boss'?"

Papyrus grinned. That... actually had a nice ring to it.

They went to the playground. Sans followed after his brother, followed his instructions, and lowered his eyes when their gazes connected. The other children were impressed.

But as they grew (or as Papyrus grew), so did the expectations and scrutiny upon them. Other monsters were no longer impressed by a jocular, devoted servant. Papyrus was soft, the whispers grew. A weak monster who wouldn’t exert power even over one he’d collared. He didn’t treat Sans right.

Papyrus was growing nervous, too.

"It's a problem," he muttered, when Sans shuffled in the door after work. "I don't... it's not working, brother."

Sans grinned tiredly. There was only one solution, of course, the fact that Papyrus wasn't looking at it only said good things about him. He let the edges of his smile wobble, and forced sweat to bead on his skull.

"W-what isn’t, Boss?"

Papyrus was half out of his chair in a moment. "Sans--what? What happened?"

Sans wiped the sweat from his brow with a grin and pushed his brother back into his chair. "Just my new act. I've been thinking. The guys know I’m powerful, they know I do what you say. So how about I go around looking super frightened of you?"

"That sounds stupid, Sans."

Sans shrugged. "It fooled you."

Papyrus looked away.

"Alright."

The next day, Papyrus acted on the mild irritation he always felt at Sans’ jokes, and stuck his foot out as Sans opened his mouth with an amused quirk. He tripped into the dirt. “What was that, trash?”

Sans shuddered. The monsters around them laughed. "So you finally got that whelp to heel?" laughed a monster that Sans was friends with.

"Eh, he's a good boy, most of the time,” Papyrus answered, unable to help coming to his brother’s defense. “Though I'm worried I've been getting... lax."

After Sans had scrambled to his feet, he placed his hand on his head and drew him to his side.

Sans froze for a moment, then moved jerkily with the contact.

It's just an act, he chanted to himself. It's just an act-- but that was the wrong approach, wasn't it? He needed to be convincing. He allowed his fear to bloom. He prodded at it.

 _"He doesn't really care about you, he's been waiting for this opportunity for years..."_ he thought to himself, and felt sweat bead on his skull.

The monsters waved Papyrus to sit down. They talked up to him, and Papyrus smiled, and gave advice. He was being respected.

Sans stood behind him, twisting his hands nervously. This was... a bizarre experience, his body was shaking, and he could feel every line of magic holding him together.

"How are you?" Papyrus asked when they got home.

"I'm fine--Papyrus," Sans answered, realising he'd very, very nearly called him 'Boss'.

"It worked great!" Papyrus said, spreading his hands. "We should do that more often. I'll join the royal guard and become the most feared monster in all the underground--Why are you sweating."

"J-just practicing, Boss," Sans answered, and closed his eyes.

"You're doing well. I should practice too! Whelp." Papyrus said the word slowly, seeming to taste it on his tongue.

"Y-yeah Boss."

The words tasted like dust.

_Why was his brother going along with this? Did he really not care?_

 

* * *

 

 

As Red and Edge:

Red popped back into the lounge to check to see if Sans was awake and noticed the slightest jerk in the other Skeleton’s body. He crossed the room and plopped down on the end of the couch. “Hey, you gonna get up?” he patted Sans’ feet.

Sans jerked violently in a full-body spasm that ran through him from his shoulders to his toes. He dropped onto the floor.

“You’re a jerk,” Sans said, levering himself up onto his elbows. His pelvis still remained inert.

“Sor- _ry_ ,” Red answered, throwing his arms up. “I just wanted to sit!”

“Don’t fucking apologise,” Sans snarled.

Red put his hands down. “Er.”

Sans shrunk into himself, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“You… want me to help you up to my room?” Red asked.

“I can shortcut there,” Sans answered.

Red shrugged.

“I _can_ shortcut! Don’t look at me like that! _”_ Sans snapped.

Red shrugged, and pulled a face.

Sans inhaled with a shudder and put his hand against his eyes as tears began to gather in his eye sockets. Red hovered, unhelpfully, and doing his best to look like a smartarse.

“Oh stars I can fucking shortcut...” Sans groaned, shaking so his bones rattled. As if to mock him, his paralysed lower body shook too. The magical mechanisms in his body were slow, they were badly damaged, but. _If he really tried they would work_.

“I’m going to get you a drink.”

“Go away.”

“Yep, gonna get you a drink, coz you always got them for me.”

Sans clenched his teeth. “I don’t need your pity!”

“Neither did I!”

The bastard always had to have the last word!

 

Red stormed away and entered the kitchen. He wished there was a door so he could slam it closed. His nerves were on fire and he flinched when he saw Edge at the stove. Edge heard his footsteps and met his eyes.

“Hey. Edge.”

Edge looked towards the doorway. “How’s today?”

“It’s… bad,” Red answered, his eyes hovering around Edge’s boots.

Edge breathed in and out, the sound whistling around his bones. “That’s… alright. That’s okay.”

Red shook his head. It wasn’t. “I’m scared of you. _I’m a fucking idiot._ ”

“You’re not. Thanks for telling me.” There was that strangled note in Edge’s voice.

(Like he thought he was the idiot, and there was no greater proof that Red had failed his most important job.)

Red wanted to give him a reassurance, _maybe tomorrow will be better_ , but another urge ran through him and he flung his arms around his brother and buried his head in his chest. Edge startled. His hands hung at his sides.

“I’m so glad. I’m so glad you’re you! I’m so _glad_ you’re not him!” Red gasped. His eyes were running wet. “I know I have nothing to fear, I know I’m fucked up—please don’t...”

He squeezed harder. He breathed out. He mouthed a word, testing its shape. He swallowed, and spoke it.

“Bro.”

Edge squeezed him tight in answer, and Red realised he didn’t feel any fear at all.

 

“Let’s get that drink.”


	5. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's an origin story.
> 
> (Extra warning for mention of suicide.)

Papyrus was walking home, sombre thoughts in his head, when Flowey sprouted out of the ground in a flash of yellow. The flower’s ususal teasing expression was gone, replaced by a contemplative look that was unexpectedly fitting.

“Be quiet!” Papyrus hissed.

Flowey rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you’re acting like an _adult_. Aren’t you meant to be fun?”

A wave of upset and hurt crashed over Papyrus – his schoomate had died, he had watched the dust spread at their funeral, and now this pissy little weed was telling him to _have fun_.

“No.”

Flowey wilted.

“Aww, sorry, I mean...” he curled around his stem like he was hugging his knees (if he’d had them). His petals and the corners of his mouth drooped.

“I’m envious. I wish… and I’ve been thinking!”

Suddenly cheerful, he sprang up to the full height of his stem. “I want to try again! Maybe I-- but if you killed me, I think I could stay dead!”

Papyrus stared.

The words slowly began to make sense in his mind along with a crushing boulder of fury.

“NO!” he spat.

Flowey flinched.

“And don’t you ever say. You. Don’t. Shut up!” Papyrus pointed at the flower. “Let’s go and make oatmeal!”

He reached down.

Flowey crossed his leaves and ducked out of the way of Papyrus’ swipe. “No. And anyway, I’m asking. So it’s okay! It’s fine! We could even--”

He stared past Papyrus. “I wish… I want to make it up to Chara.”

Papyrus made another lunge for Flowey. “Well, I think that’s a stupid idea--”

He was going to say more, but a vine caught is mouth and knocked him against a tree. Papyrus yelped as he reached for his opponent’s soul but found only emptiness in Flowey’s body.

The soul was pulled away from him. Flowey held it tight in vines that pulled it to his stem. He squeezed, and Papyrus whimpered around the vine in his mouth.

The vine pulled away.

“F-flowey, let go. Please.”

Flowey gave a shrug. “Hey, this probably will never even happen. It’s not like I’d hurt my friend! We’ll just… reset if it goes wrong. I mean, you want me to have feelings, right?”

“I’ll remember! And this will hurt you!”

“It won’t hurt me, it’ll _fix_ me.” Flowey’s grip tightened, and Papyrus felt a trickle of dust tickle the surface of his soul. The feeling left him speechless and dizzy, but he persevered.

“You _are_ hurting! And you _can_ be a good person!”

“No--”

Soft footsteps joined Flowey’s words, and then Sans was with them, his eyes black with shock, and now this _couldn’t_ be undone, ever, because Sans would remember and he would _know_.

Sans never had the chance to break out of his shock – a vine, then another, bound him to another tree.

“--I can’t!”

Papyrus’ thoughts were lost in the pain in his soul.

\- -

Sans came to his senses. He reacted too late to stop Flowey from weaving a vine around his neck and pressing hard against his speech magic. He watched his brother go quiet in silence.

“Stop having so much faith!” Flowey howled at the puppet-like skeleton, and withdrew his thorns from Papyrus’ soul. The raw surface trembled. Orange magic flickered around Papyrs’ body in protest, turning the vines a sickly yellow.

The vines thickened.

Flowey delicately scraped the thorns deep into the soul, face almost inquisitive as dust flaked. He swore to himself.

Sans’ left eye flicked blue and yellow.

“Nuh-uh, don’t do that!”

Flowey hooked the soul on a vine and and slammed it against the side of Sans’ head. Both skeletons flinched, and Sans moaned.

He eye flickered with a kaleidoscope of yellow and blue and he struggled against the vines. Dust from his brother’s soul drifted down his cheek. There seemed so much of it, raining over his body like flour.

“Stop. It.” Sans the words through his teeth.

“Oo, scarey!” Flowey spat, and pressed harder, moving his soul around Sans’ face so that he could see a split widening in its side.

“I’ll kill you.”

Flowey laughed. “What? I’m the one behind the resets. Haven’t you figured that out by now? You _can’t_ kill me, I won’t let an enemy like _you_ kill me.”

The pressure on the side of his face was released.

“What would be the point? I’d just come back.”

Sans’ eye flared blue, a single strong pulse of cyan light, that lit up the vines with a shocking intensity. Flowey sent another vine to keep him still, but was stopped by a blast of yellow-blue magic that cut through the vine.

Flowey ducked into the ground before it could hit him.

The blast fell harmlessly on the soul that had been left on the ground as the skeletons slumped into piles of bones.

Papyrus was sobbing. He was making noise for the first time in what felt like forever. The most wretched expression that Sans had ever seen twisted up is face as he crawled to where his soul lay in the dirt.

“Sans...” he whimpered as he tried to push dust into the hole. “Sans, something’s missing.”

Papyrus pulled his soul into the safety of his rib cage.

_"Why weren't you faster?”_


End file.
